


i'm a protocol droid, not a doctor

by pugglemuggle



Series: Stormpilot Valentine's Collection - 2016 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (Aka POV C-3PO), Blushing, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, POV Outsider, R2-D2 swears a lot, heart monitors, the droids don't want to deal with this human bullshit but well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/pseuds/pugglemuggle
Summary: C-3PO was a protocol droid, not a doctor. In other words, he should not have to, as R2 put it, “deal with this shit.”But, alas. Here he was.(Or, C-3PO was no expert on human biology, but should an injury as small as Finn's really warrant a heart rate that high? Perhaps Poe had something to do with it....)





	i'm a protocol droid, not a doctor

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Day 5 of the [Stormpilot edition](http://pugglemuggle.tumblr.com/post/138527312173/14-days-of-valentines-stormpilot-edition) of my annual "14 Days of Valentines" challenge. The prompt of the day was "Heart". The original fic can be found on tumblr [here](http://pugglemuggle.tumblr.com/post/138897229038/day-5-heart).
> 
> (psssst episode 8 is coming out and i have decided that i am Not Ready ahhhhhh)

C-3PO was not a medical droid. Although he was trained in basic first-aid protocol, and was capable of operating most standard-issue medical monitoring equipment, he was of the opinion that most emergency treatments and diagnoses really should be left to specialized droids. C-3PO simply could not guarantee that his conclusions would be correct. This task he was being asked to complete was really not within his normal range of duties. He was a protocol droid, not a doctor.

In other words, C-3PO should not have to, as R2 put it, “deal with this shit.”

But, alas. Here he was.

They were just completing a scouting mission on a small planet located on the Middle Rim. The Princess—or rather, the General had told them it would be a very routine and uneventful trip. The planet was uninhabited, she said. They just needed to find out if it would make a suitable Resistance base in the future. Initially, the mission party had consisted of only himself, R2, BB-8, and Master Poe. Since the planet had not been visited in a long time and the atmospheric conditions were uncertain, the General had thought it appropriate to comprise their party of mostly non-organics so that, if it proved necessary, exploration on the surface of the planet would not require respiration apparatuses. C-3PO had thought this was very reasonable.

Master Poe, however, had insisted that he needed someone on board to act as additional “security”. “Preferably someone who can handle a blaster,” he’d told the General. “We haven’t been to this planet in a while. Who’s to say the First Order hasn’t set up a base there while we were gone?”

The General agreed to Poe’s request, and, to no one’s surprise, Poe immediately suggested that Finn be added to their company. The necessary changes were made.

It turned out that the planet they were surveying was an even better fit than had been hoped. The air was non-toxic and had the correct proportions of oxygen to support organics. Finn, Poe, and BB8 were able to initiate an on-foot exploration without the assistance of the other droids. Their mission would have gone very well if Poe hadn’t been right about the First Order setting up a base.

“Finn! Are you alright? Are you okay?” Poe asked, repeatedly slamming the button to close the cargo hold behind them while supporting a limping Finn under the arm. There was something quite wrong—Finn seemed reluctant to put weight on his right foot, and both of them were covered in small scrapes and scratches, presumably from racing through the underbrush.

“Oh, my!” C-3PO said, hustling stiffly towards the two men. “What happened?”

“We ran into some Stormtroopers,” Finn gritted out, wincing as he gingerly tried to step with his injured foot. Poe helped him sit down before rushing to the cockpit, flipping switches at a speed made possible only with his many years of experience. “They saw us before we saw them,” Finn continued. “I rolled my ankle running back here.”

“Do you think they will pursue us?” C-3PO asked, but BB-8 immediately began beeping about how the Stormtroopers they saw seemed to only have one small cargo vessel on their base, and how they hadn’t been followed by anyone who wasn’t on foot.

Poe punched the acceleration then, and the spacecraft took off. As soon as they were out of the atmosphere of the small planet and had put an appropriate amount of distance between themselves and the enemy, he switched it to autopilot and joined them in the cargo hold.

“Finn, how’s the ankle?” Poe asked.

“Uh, it hurts, but I’ll be okay,” he replied. He tried to get up to illustrate his point, but winced and sat back down again. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. Poe looked unconvinced.

“C-3PO, he asked, “do you know what kind of med equipment is on this ship?”

“I believe we are outfitted with a small kit of basic supplies and monitoring equipment, Master Poe,” he said. “R2, do you know where it might be?”

R2 told him to “check the fucking med equipment center”. How rude.

“There is no need for this kind of attitude, R2,” C-3PO admonished, but he went where R2 had directed all the same. He returned with the small case of basic equipment—a bandage set, anesthetics, a bio monitor, and several other small devices.

“You hit your head when you fell, didn’t you?” Poe asked. “I remember seeing your head hit the ground.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel—” Finn protested.

“We should make sure you don’t have a concussion, just in case. C-3PO, you know how to check for concussions, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, “but Master Finn does not appear to be exhibiting slurred speech or delayed responses to questions. I can connect him to the bio monitor but I do not anticipate that we will see any head injuries aside from some minor bruising.”

Poe nodded, then looked at Finn. “We should connect you to the bio monitor, then, just be safe.”

Finn shrugged in a resigned kind of way, so C-3PO affixed the bio monitor’s sensors to the underside of Finn’s wrist.

This was when, in R2’s words, the “annoying human bullshit” started.

When the bio monitor was first attached, Master Finn appeared to be perfectly fine. His vital readings were normal, aside from a slight elevation in pulse due to his injury. C-3PO suggested they bandage Finn’s ankle to protect it from further injury, and Finn began trying to remove his boot—a task that proved difficult when every wrong move made him cringe in pain.

“Here, let me,” Poe said. He out a gentle hand around the back of Finn’s lower leg, holding it in place, while using his other hand to slowly work the boot off of his foot.

“Um,” said Finn.

C-3PO began to notice a clear spike in Finn’s pulse readings. It was most likely because of the jostling his ankle took during the removal of his shoe, he reasoned.

“Hey, 3PO? Could you hand me the bandage roll from the med kit?”

“Of course, Master Poe.” He handed him the bandages as Poe removed Finn’s sock. The pulse monitor spiked higher. It plateaued at a high but steady rate of 115 beats per minute when Poe started wrapping Finn’s ankle with careful, tender movements.

“Are you alright, Master Finn?” C-3PO asked. “You’re heart rate—”

“I’m fine, really,” Finn insisted quickly. He did not look fine, if C-3PO were to lend his opinion. Finn’s face had flushed a great deal in the last minute or so. Nevertheless, C-3PO reserved his judgement. He was not a medical droid, after all. This was not his area of expertise.

“There you go. All done,” Poe said once he’d finished wrapping Finn’s ankle.

“Thanks, Finn said, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. He froze, however, when he appeared to see something on Poe’s shirt. “Wait, Poe, are you bleeding?”

“Hm?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely bleeding,” Finn insisted, pointing to a red spot on Poe’s side.

Poe followed Finn’s gesture and looked at the blotchy red mark that was slowly expanding its way out across the front of Poe’s upper chest as more blood soaked into the fabric. “Oh,” Poe said.

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Forget about me, you should be the one getting the medical attention.”

“It didn’t hurt before. It’s just a scrape, probably.”

“Master Poe,” C-3PO said, “I am not a medical droid,”—R2 made a comment akin to “Damn right,” which C-3PO elected to ignore—“but perhaps you should allow me to examine the wound?”

“Sure, of course,” Poe said, pulling his shirt over his head and grimacing as the fabric chafed his injured side. The wound was small and shallow, but it seemed to be losing a lot of blood nonetheless.

“It seems to be a blaster wound. It does not look terribly serious, though. You were very lucky not to have been shot directly,” C-3PO said.

Poe smirked and shook his head. “No…. I think the guy who shot me was lucky to have hit me at all.”

“Perhaps. I would still suggest you be more careful in the future. That was a very narrow escape!”

“I’ve had narrower…”

Throughout this exchange, Finn was staring at Poe—specifically, at Poe’s chest—with an expression that C-3PO found difficult to place. He looked distressed and concerned, his eyes wide and his face even more flushed than before. C-3PO checked the bio monitor’s pulse readings and— “Oh my! Master Finn, your heartrate has risen to 134 beats per minute! Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Oh, um,” Finn said, looking down at his feet quickly. “I’m fine. Are you fine? I’m fine.”

Poe took one look at Finn and started grinning in earnest. “This scratch is nothing, Finn. I’m more than okay. I’ll just have to bandage it up.”

“I recommend doing that promptly, Master Poe. The sooner you stop the bleeding, the better.”

“Yeah,” Poe said, staring at Finn as he spoke and biting his lower lip. Finn was looking back at him in a dazed sort of way, his eyes even larger than before. “You’re right, 3PO…. Say, would you guys mind watching the cockpit for me? I’ll be there in a minute. Gotta put on a bandage.”

“I believe you left it on autopilot, sir. This Starfighter should be perfectly capable—”

R2 made a series of beeps telling him to get his shiny ass out the door, because, apparently, Poe was about to “kiss the shit out of Finn”, and wanted to be alone. BB-8 nearly knocked him over while rushing to exit the room.

“Oh. Right. Of course, Master Poe,” C-3PO said. “We will be watching the monitors for you. I’m leaving now. Here I go.”

They had been in the cockpit for a good five minutes when C-3PO realized he was still holding the bio monitor. According to the heartrate reading, Finn’s pulse had risen to 146 beats per minute.

“Fucking organics,” was all R2 had to say about it. BB-8 made a noise of concurrence.

For once, C-3PO did not find himself disagreeing with R2’s sentiments. “I do believe this will be happening quite a bit more frequently,” C-3PO said.

R2 intentionally knocked over a stand holding Poe’s helmet.

C-3PO sighed. Future missions were certainly going to be very interesting.


End file.
